Just Another Victim

I find comfort in a rigid schedule. After all, there is safety in familiarity, right? Every morning I eat a slice of wheat toast, a fried egg on the side and a cup of strong, dark coffee; an expensive, superior brew, of course. After I shower and shave, I apply just enough Clive Christian No. 1. I then choose one of my many designer suits; brands of which few have heard of, and even fewer could afford. 

       

       Every day I take my 2012 Porche 911 to work. It has an excellent performance, as well as that smooth, sleek look you just can't find in American cars. I work downtown in a large, prominent building, in which I have the most luxurious office. I work on the second to top floor of the building; I would be at the very top with the higher ups, but I'm over qualified. They're afraid of my potential, my intelligence.

        

      "Hey, Charlie!" Shouted Jim, some a*****e who works on the same floor as me. I think he's sleeping with one of the higher ups, because he's clearly not qualified for this floor.

"It's Charles, Jim. How many times must I remind you? Nick names are moronic." I said, already annoyed.

"Sorry, must've slipped my mind," He said, laughing, with his smug grin. "Anyway, the guys and I are heading down to that bar I was telling you about for lunch. You should definitely come!"

Jim's been pestering me about some hole in the wall bar for what feels like an eternity at this point. I've declined his offer each time, but he's too dense to take the hint. "I can't," I retorted. "You know I have lunch plans, same as every other day you've invited me, Jim."

        Every day I have lunch with one of my exes, Kayla. A nice enough girl, but not one I could be with long term, since she works on the floor below me; that combined with the fact that she was always a bit chubby in the face would make me a laughing stock throughout the building if I were to be seen dating her. 

"Well, maybe one of these days!" Jim pestered.

"Oh, absolutely, pal!"

Jim took the hint and walked away with his tail between his legs. Good dog.

By lunch hour I was in my usual spot. A five star restaurant, of course. Probably the best in the city. Kayla was running late, which I took personal offense to, so I went ahead and ordered without her. My usual, the Blanquette de Veau. By the time it arrived, so had Kayla. 

"Hey, Charles!" She exclaimed.

"You're late." I said while taking a sip of wine. A fine red wine, which I find really compliments the veal.

"I know, I'm sorry! I made a quick stop and picked up this new dress. How do I look, Charles?"

She looked stunning. It was obviously an expensive dress, one which complimented her figure perfectly. Every curve was available to be drunk by the eyes, and made it nearly impossible to look away.

"Fat." I said.

"I'm sorry?"

"You look fat. Have you thought of joining a gym?"

"Charles, you know I go to one every day."

"Ah, yes, that's right. Perhaps it's just your genetics then."

          After our meal, we began to speak politics; and I tried explaining to her our world's very complex issues and described my eloquent solutions, but I don't think she understood them.

She changed the subject to her personal life, a boring topic, which I had very little interest in paying attention to.

". . . and Jim and I," She rambled.

"Hold on," I interjected. "You and Jim? How? You two don't even work on the same floor."

"Well, neither do we; and I seem to remember we dated for a good while."

I couldn't believe it. Jim? I refused to accept that she would choose him over me. He's an obviously inferior specimen. Not qualified to work on my floor, and not worthy to even look at my woman.

"You f*****g b***h." I said under my breath.

"What?"

"I said, 'how was your fish?'."

"Oh, it was simply marvelous!"

          After work, I invited Jim over for drinks. Told him we should get to know each other more. Of course, he jumped at the chance. I slipped a little something into his drink, and half way through his second he was put like a light. I drug him by his feet down to my cellar, where I keep all my imported, extravagant wines; I made sure his head hit every step on the way down,and it started to bleed a little by the time we reached the bottom.

I then sat him on a metal chair and tied him to it. He awoke not long after.

"Ugh," He grumbled as we started to escape his haze. "My head feels like it was whacked with a semi truck. Where, ah, where am I, Charlie?"

"You're in my home office, Jim! Comfortable?" He began to squirm and panic as he realized he was tied down. He attempted to stand and run, as his legs were unbound, but fell over his own weight.

    I laughed at him while grabbing a lead pipe in the corner. "I don't get why they always try to run. I mean, where do they expect to go? Where did you expect to escape to, Jim, huh?"

"Why are you doing this, Charlie?" He worriedly asked as I sat him back up.

"To prove a point." I answered.

       I smashed the lead pipe against his right knee, which cracked almost as loud as he screamed. I stood still for a moment, relishing in his pain; then I destroyed his other knee. Jim screamed louder. I was loving it. I took out a scalpel from the desk I had down there. I slowly began to poke and prod Jim's eye, as he started to whimper.

"No, no, God no . . ." He helplessly pleaded. It was at that moment I jammed the scalpel fully into his eye socket and began to twist and jab until his eye came out completely. Blood poured from his eye socket and caked half his face. I love it when they don't fall into shock so quickly. I plopped his severed eye into his blood drenched mouth. 

"If you eat this right here in front of me, I might let you go." I said. He spit it out and began to scream. Loudly.

"Shut up! Shut up, you worthless piece of s**t!" I screamed back at him, while repeatedly stabbing his other eye until it was nothing but a mashed paste.

"Charlie! Oh God, Charlie, why!" He pathetically cried.

"It's f*****g Charles! How many times must I remind you, Jim? Nick names are f*****g moronic!" I screamed at him while reaching again for the lead pipe and began repeatedly bashing his skull until it caved in. I stepped back, took a deep breath and began to wipe Jim's blood from my face. I smiled more genuinely than I had in awhile. No f*****g feeling beats this.

       This morning, I woke up, had my wheat toast with my fried egg on the side and my strong, dark coffee. Jim has started to rot by now. I should clean up my mess soon, but I've been extra busy with work as of late. I heard that Kayla's moving up to the top floor soon; probably out of sympathy over the sudden loss of her boyfriend. I mean, it must be, seeing as how she's simply not qualified to work there. I'm happy for her, though. Perhaps I'll invite her over for drinks tonight.